


Vanilla Nut Blast

by sarensen



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Hormones, Innuendo everywhere, Other, Pre-Canon, Public Masturbation, kylo has a one-track mind sometimes, lyrical descriptions of hux's delicate wrists, lyrical descriptions of the Finalizer, part of a longer series, the finalizer's stormtroopers deal with A Lot, unnecessary amounts of exposition for a jerk-off session
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 01:40:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11003313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarensen/pseuds/sarensen
Summary: Written for this anon prompt on tumblr: "Gottmord explores how Hux fell for Ren, but how about showing Ren's side of the story? When did he first know he was into Hux?"In which Kylo is all of us, Hux is only trying to make conversation, and some Stormtroopers are very unlucky.A prequel of sorts to theSound of Broken Glassseries. Can be read as a standalone.





	Vanilla Nut Blast

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks to the amazing [sterne](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sterne/pseuds/sterne) for the beta.

The Finalizer is a large ship; home to over eighty thousand officers, Stormtroopers, technicians, medical personnel, data analysts, programmers, scientists and engineers. Eighty thousand thoughts and habits and fears and expectations crowding in around Kylo, stifling, a network of ants swarming through the veins of the ship with a kind of constant grey noise buzzing in the back of his mind. Eighty thousand mouths that need to be fed. Though the flagship and first commissioned battle cruiser of the First Order boasts the latest technology - from holosim training chambers to the newest VR stim programs - even she doesn't have the capacity to feed her entire crew at once. And so, meal times aboard the Finalizer are divided between her six large mess halls, according to shift, rotation and, unofficially, rank.

Everyone on board is allotted the same nutritionally-balanced mix of rations and whatever natural fare they collect from their brief and infrequent planetfalls, rationed according to each crew member's personal physical needs, with no distinction accorded to rank or station. There are no official regulations for where meals should be taken, as long as they are taken in the allotted time. Despite this, however - in the way of militaries all over the galaxy - there is a certain natural order that eventually develops in all structured organizations, as it did on the Finalizer not long after her maiden voyage.

And so in the way of these things, Stormtroopers and other ground personnel find themselves taking meals in one of the three mess halls flanking the port side of the Finalizer, while flight crew, engineers, technicians and med personnel convene in the two mess halls in the center of the ship (central, with easy and quick access to the rest of the ship in case of emergency). High-ranking officers, strategists and liaisons gather in the smaller mess hall on Deck 6 (which, as it just so happens, has four large, angular viewports with a lovely view of the stars).

Kylo has eaten in the Deck 6 mess hall a grand total of once. He tells himself he didn't know any better: he had just arrived on the Finalizer, fresh from training with the Supreme Leader and filled with darkness and ambition. He had been looking forward to meeting the commanders of the military who would make Snoke's vision a reality, would implement his policies by means of force while Kylo dealt with the Jedi who still stood in his way. What he found when he joined one of the officers for a meal that day was this: small, scared minds filled with mistrust and spite, and that peculiar mix of greed and cowardice found only in the hearts of men lusting for power they are only willing to take if the responsibility for the atrocities committed in the name of it can be laid squarely on the shoulders of someone else.

Worst of these was the General in command of the ship, and Kylo's equal under Snoke: Hux was a man with a brilliant mind, but many deep and dark places hidden under a layer of frigid energy. He'd sat by himself, as Kylo came to learn he always does, at the end of one long table, working on a datapad while eating. And when Kylo brought his tray to sit down opposite him, perhaps with the misguided intention of familiarizing himself with his mind, or maybe just to purposely annoy him - Kylo can't remember which - Hux had looked up at him with a glare so hostile and full of malice, it had slammed into Kylo's skin like a sheet of ice. Hux's energy had crawled down the back of his neck and speared needles into the bottom of his spine. If Kylo had been a lesser a man, he might have been intimidated. As it was, he'd met Hux's glare with his own long enough to make it clear that he wouldn't back down (and tried not to let on how much it had almost made him uncomfortable).

Since that day, Kylo has made it his policy to avoid the mess on Deck 6 at all costs.

He's tried eating in the central mess halls a few times, with the technicians and engineers and data analysts, and found them, in general, to be surprisingly loud: programmers that spend hours in silence in front of their terminals with only the light of the screen display for company, who tend to overcompensate for the silence by talking just a bit too loudly; technicians that are used to the clang and clatter of machinery and scrape their chairs when they sit down. On one memorable occasion, a signal analyst with a nervous tic at the next table over had kept tapping his fork against the side of his tray as he talked to his friend. Kylo had been patient right up until the tines of the fork suddenly found themselves buried in the back of the man's hand by means of the Force, everyone staring at Kylo's outstretched hand and clawed fingers in the sudden hush that had come over the hall. It took a few moments for the analyst to realize what had happened.

Kylo left when he started screaming. He hasn't been back since.

He's found that he prefers spending time with the Stormtroopers, anyway; they're quiet and disciplined, like all good soldiers, their minds more often than not overlaid by that particular brand of fear, like white noise, brought on by recent Reconditioning, and he likes to get a feel for the men he will have to rely on in the field. He's found that talking to the ‘troopers like this, off duty and while sharing a meal, helps build trust, an invaluable asset in the field where he might have to rely on these very men to save his life if things go south in a battle. (He's also been able to convince the cooking droid to give him extra helpings of the sweet cakes they sometimes have for dessert. If any of the Stormtroopers have noticed this breach of regulation, none have tattled on him so far).

The first time Kylo had entered the ‘trooper mess (or the "Slop Drop", as he's learned the Stormtroopers unofficially refer to it), a hush fell over the crew inside. The clink of cutlery went silent, conversations abruptly cut off, some blatantly staring at him, others surreptitiously trying to swallow the food they'd shoveled into their mouths. They were clearly scared of him, their surface thoughts racing with panicked questions about why he was here and what he was going to do and which one of them was going to die first, and the Force tasted bitter with their simmering apprehension.

Stormtroopers had glanced at each other doubtfully as he received a tray and a bowl of porridge from the cooking droid and shifted uncomfortably as he sat down at an open space at one of the tables. It had been a few months since the Finalizer had made landfall: the "porridge" that day was colorless and bland, and Kylo had arrived late enough for it to be cold.

‘troopers had stared at him as he took off the helmet to eat, continued to watch in awed uncomfortable silence as he chewed, unblinkingly observing every bite until Kylo felt his face burn and his mind crawl with their scrutiny. He'd slowly stopped eating, laid his spoon down carefully on the side of the plate, clenched his fists on top of the table with a scowl. But he didn't want to lash out: these were soldiers, like him. They were clearly scared. And he was running out of places to eat, anyway. So he'd slowly looked up, glanced at the ‘trooper next to him and muttered,  "What I wouldn't give for a Flangth-2-Go right now. Am I right?"

The ‘trooper had blinked, staring at him in shock. It was followed by a nervous twitter of laughter from opposite the table. This seemed to break the tension, and soon enough, conversations picked back up again, cutlery started clanging merrily, and the minds of the Stormtroopers settled back into a comfortable buzz of off-duty repose.

(The fact that Kylo hates Flangth-2-Go has remained a well-kept secret.)

Kylo has been taking all of his meals in the Slop Drop since, where the ‘troopers have come to accept, and even expect him, and this is where he finds himself heading now, late (or early) enough in fourth shift for most of the Finalizer's crew to be asleep.

The hangar is hues of black and silver and grey, shining chrome surfaces and sterile, glaring lights. It's all angles and rigid lines, everything precisely in order: TIE-fighters stacked in diagonal rows against the far wall, shuttles docked exactly in their bays, Stormtroopers marching patrol in two strict rows, their steps measured exactly in time. The large hangar port gapes out into space, its atmo shield shimmering into hexagonal holographic shapes as ships break through it to dock.

He's just come back from a three-day mission to what he's sure is the Galaxy's muddiest planet, hasn't eaten since the previous morning, and he's tired and in a foul mood and just wants to make straight for his quarters and sleep for about seven weeks, but he knows he won't be able to come to rest unless he eats something. And so he finds himself heading toward the Slop Drop instead, tapping his fingers against the hilt of his lightsaber impatiently in the elevator down to Deck 2, and stomping down the hallway perhaps a bit harder than necessary.

Today, though, something is different. He slows just outside the mess hall, senses tingling. It's almost empty - not unusual, at this hour, between shift breaks and in the early hours of what counts as the ship's morning, and something Kylo had been relying on, too tired and sore to want to deal with people - but instead of the usual mellow buzz of Stormtrooper minds, like the constant trickling voices and unclear words of a subdued crowd, he senses a bright nexus of thought, constantly moving and shifting and calculating, sharp and edged and brittle, a little self-contained supernova of a mind. Kylo stops short, fists clenching at his sides.

Hux is a difficult man to miss, even on a ship the size of the Finalizer.

Kylo has been stationed on the Finalizer for almost a year, and still hasn't quite decided what to make of his co-commander. He's a difficult man to know, even for Kylo, to whose mind-reading abilities this rarely presents a problem. Hux is ever-shifting, never still - he's never encountered anyone with so much pent-up energy. And yet for all his ruthlessness when in command, Kylo doesn't think he's ever sensed an emotion from him. In fact, Hux's walls are so high that the only thing Kylo has ever gotten from him is arrogance: he doesn't disdain his subordinates exactly, but he has a firm understanding of his position in the First Order, and everyone serving under him is made absolutely sure to know it. In fact, when it comes to Hux, there are only two things Kylo is absolutely certain of: if starships ran on pettiness, Hux could fuel the entire First Order fleet. And Hux never, ever lowers himself to eat in the Slop Drop.

He mentally scratches the second item off his list, gritting his teeth. For a moment, he debates going to one of the other messes, but that would mean having to track all the way to the other side of the deck. Anyway, he reasons, this is _his_ domain. He's not going to let Hux chase him out of it. He clenches and unclenches his fists a few times, then growls at his own hesitation and stalks up to the mess doors. Hux is an enigma, but he'll become easier to read. Eventually, they all do.

He'll just grab his food and go to his quarters to eat (against regulation, but really, who's going to stop him?). If he's lucky, there's a chance Hux won't notice him. If he does try to talk to him, Kylo will keep it formal and concise. Hell, conversation isn't his strong suit to begin with, but maybe a relaxed (or as close to it as Hux is able to come), off-duty chat would even help to smooth their co-command.

(But the biggest part of Kylo, who has only ever been sort of passingly acquainted with optimism, hopes that he can just get in and out unnoticed.)

The doors hiss open as he approaches, and he is immediately enveloped by the smell of fried eggs. (This has, in Kylo's experience, been a universal mystery of military mess halls all over the Galaxy: from the dingy mobile diner units serving First Order outposts in the Outer-est Rim to the Resistance barracks he'd visited with Leia as a child; they somehow, despite hardly ever offering anything richer than thick nutritional gruel, and on certain occasions being located on planets not actually inhabited by chickens, always manage to smell like fried eggs.)

The Slop Drop is brightly lit as usual, in stark contrast to the dark hallways of the Finalizer - Kylo has to squint for a moment to allow his eyes to adjust - and the deep thrum of the ship's engines (louder here than on the upper decks) is overlaid by soft, strictly-non-regulation music. The internal comm systems are to be kept open at all times to facilitate ship-wide broadcasts. But the kitchen staff of the Stormtrooper messes came to a unanimous decision that the usual ship-wide broadcasts just weren't important, and any emergencies would be preempted by the ship's alarms anyway. Given that most of the broadcasts consist of pre-recorded speeches by Hux himself, addressing the crew about the corruption, fraudulency and general malaise of the New Republic, Kylo doesn't disagree.

Where the Slop Drop in particular tends to play up-beat, fast-tempoed music around mealtimes, with the aim to subconsciously spur diners on to eat faster and leave more quickly so they can serve a larger amount of ‘troopers in less time, at this hour, the music is much more relaxed. Today, they're playing something Kylo doesn't recognise, of the kind of melancholy mozz-box tunes Kylo hates.

He sees Hux immediately, and pauses. Hux is off-duty and out of formal uniform. It's the first time Kylo has seen him in anything but the greatcoat-and-hat-combination, both of which are missing now. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to the elbows to reveal very pale skin, disappearing into his gloves. His hair is longer than Kylo expected; a few unruly strands have escaped their strict styling and droop over his forehead, half-obscuring one eye. He looks young, like this, the lines of his face softer, rounder. And...as Kylo's eyes trail down, he notices the top of Hux's tunic is unbuttoned, peeling back to reveal his neck. Kylo swallows lightly. He hasn't seen this much collective skin since he arrived on the Finalizer. The officers of the First Order treat showing their skin like some kind of taboo. Suddenly seeing Hux bare his so casually is... unexpectedly enticing.

Hux leans on the bar at the other end of the mess, nursing a drink, and for the first time since Kylo met him, he looks... almost human. This, Kylo will admit, is a very strange feeling: he's used to Hux's cold energy and his perpetual sneer, to the frigidity in his eyes, walls as tall as mountains. Kylo doesn't get unsettled easily, but the way Hux looks at him has, on occasion, made him very slightly uneasy. But like this, slumped slightly over the bar with his chin resting on one hand and his mouth not turned down into a scowl, Hux is... well. He's not unattractive.

Kylo becomes aware of the sound of the mess doors, sliding halfway shut before detecting his presence and sliding back again, only to start sliding shut again, pause, and slide open. He's been standing there for a while. A service droid nearby is staring, cleaning cloth paused above the tabletop.

Kylo steels himself and steps inside. He came here for food. Behind him, the doors slide shut. Giving Hux and the bar and the droid at the other end of it a wide berth, he weaves through the squat tables and bolted metal chairs to the food synthesizers, set into the wall. He doesn't quite go so far as to shield himself with the Force, but he keeps Hux in the corner of his eye, and keeps up a steady mantra of "don't look this way, don't see me" in his head.

It doesn't work. He's punching in the code for a ration pack (the newly-added "vanilla nut blast" flavour, which Kylo prefers over the other flavours, despite the fact that it bears only a passing resemblance to any vanilla taste and doesn't actually contain nuts, because he finds the name hilarious) when he feels Hux's eyes land on him like a physical touch. The inner workings of the synthesizer whirr to life, a small LED panel set in the wall above the unit displaying each step of the creation process as it happens. Behind Kylo, ice cubes clink in Hux's glass as he shifts. Kylo bites the inside of his cheek, trying to ignore Hux's gaze. He can feel his cheeks grow hot, and he's not sure why he's having this reaction, but it irritates him.

The dispenser beeps softly, a panel at the bottom of it sliding open to reveal a clear-film pack of his three ration bars, a precious box of blue milk, and an apple. He tucks the package under his arm and is just about to leave when he hears Hux say his name.

Kylo sighs internally. Here it comes. He's so sure Hux is about to say something disparaging or annoying or insulting that he preempts this by getting angry. No matter how vulnerable he looks right now, Kylo reminds himself, Hux has a tendency to throw him under the freighter, always looking for Kylo's weaknesses so he can exploit them later. So he stalks over to the bar, sets the ration pack on the counter perhaps a bit harder than necessary, and growls, "Yes?"

Hux, either unaware of Kylo's irritation or unaffected by it, goes on evenly, "So you _do_ eat down here with the Stormtroopers."

"What's it to you?" Kylo is not in the mood for conversation, and certainly not in the mood for Hux's disdainful attitude. He stares fixedly at where his hands are carefully splayed on the counter, mostly to avoid tapping his fingers impatiently on the surface.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Hux shrug one shoulder and say, "I'd heard rumours."

Kylo wants to be snide about a high-ranking officer indulging in petty gossip. Instead, he points out, "You're down here too," and turns his head slightly towards Hux. Though the corners of his mouth have already turned down into the perpetual sneer he always seems to have, now that Kylo really _looks_ at him, he really is quite attractive: the top button of his uniform tunic hangs open, revealing the hollow of a pale and smooth throat dipping into prominent collarbones. The hand holding his glass tapers into an elegant wrist, bones shifting under almost-white skin dusted with fine golden hairs toward where the crook of his elbow disappears under the rolled-up sleeve.

Kriff.

Kylo is taken aback by how unexpectedly _delicate_ he looks, almost frail, as if the slightest touch could shatter him. It's in such contrast to his image of the hard-faced and uncompromising man he has to try and share his command with that he finds it inexplicably, but undeniably...hot. And...yes. There it is. His traitorous body waiting, as always, until the worst possible moment to have a reaction. Kylo does not need this.

He turns his head away, furiously reciting training routines in his head - falling avalanche into fluid riposte, counterstrike from below - he is _not_ having this reaction, to Hux of all people, this is _not_ happening - feint left, pivot into forward thrust - it's just that it's been some time since his last sexual encounter, and he's had a long day - forward thrust...forward thrust...

He blinks. Hux has been saying something.

A quick scan of his mind reveals something about the Radama Void, though Hux isn't as easy to read as the other crew, and deeper probing would almost certainly reveal his presence in Hux's mind. Kylo gathers that it's something about the First Order's upcoming raid of several planets in the cradle of the Void - he'd seen the general brief. From the way Hux is watching him, one eyebrow raised slightly expectantly, Kylo infers he's been asked something about the mission.

He swallows a bit thickly, glad for the mask that hides how almost certainly flushed he is.

But he's been quiet too long. Hux puts his glass down and turns fully toward Kylo on the bar stool, resting one hand on his hip, and says, "Well, Ren? Will you be taking a squadron or not?"

Glancing at him turns out to be a mistake. Kylo becomes suddenly aware of how close they are, of the fine sheen of moisture on Hux's lips. Hux's eyes, he realizes, are green.

Focus. Squadron. Will he be taking a squadron? He hasn't even read the damn mission brief properly. He's about to say so, but then Hux shifts minutely closer and suddenly Kylo can _smell_ him, the clean smell of regulation soap overlaid by some kind of expensive cologne and if he thought he was in trouble before, well, at least he hadn't found himself having to curl over a quickly-growing erection.

This is _not_ happening. He's _not_ getting hard from talking to fucking Hux and his fucking pale throat and his fucking delicate-looking wrists. Definitely not happening. Except that it is. He swallows thickly, suddenly very glad for the heavy overcoat covering his crotch, and the mask covering what is certainly, shamefully, a blush on his face.

He mutters something like, "I'm not going. Handle it yourself," and whirls around, ignoring Hux's indignant "Excuse me?" and not quite running out of the mess. He stops just outside to lean one hand against the wall, aghast at himself. Are his knees actually... trembling? He'll admit that he hasn't been this affected physically by anyone in a very long time. But _Hux_? Really? Rolling his eyes at himself he pushes away from the wall and starts heading back to his quarters, but he's almost fully hard now, and with his size, walking in this state is extremely uncomfortable - his breeches stretch tightly over his length, every tiny movement adding to the building and agonizing pressure in his cock.

He doesn't quite make it all the way down the corridor before the need becomes too great. He stops. It takes him barely a second to decide: he's relatively sure he's not going to be able to make it all the way back to his quarters, it's late enough for most of the hallways to be fairly deserted, and even if someone does happen by, the Force can take care of them. No one has to know, and if possible, Kylo will erase this day from the annals of his mind and never, ever think about it again.

Mind made up, he slips into an adjacent passage. He's not sure where it leads, but there are no doors immediately visible, and it's slightly narrower than the rest of the ship's hallways. He glares at the lights until they flicker, and then fizzle out, just far enough down the passage to not immediately be noticed by anyone passing by. Then he hurriedly tugs loose the cords around his waist and shoves his breeches down to his thighs.

His cock is already mostly hard, and fleshes out when he wraps his hand around it, already slick with precome. He sets a fast, hard pace, just like he likes it, and when he closes his eyes, he sees Hux's fragile, pale wrists, the raised collarbones just underneath the open collar of his tunic, the unexpected narrowness of his shoulders without the greatcoat. He leans forward, pressing his forearm against the wall.

A sudden and visceral vision of manhandling Hux like a doll seizes him - how easy it would be to pick him up and shove him against the wall, push him into just the right position as he slides into him; he can picture how perfectly Hux would fit under him, body completely covered by Kylo's own, thin ankles hooked around his lower back. His hand moves faster on his cock. He imagines the rush it would be to have that kind of power over the Ice General of the First Order, and upon imagining it, finds that it's something he very much wants.

He's close now - he can feel his balls tighten, a spurt of precome splattering against the wall. He's so lost in the sensation that he doesn't hear the clatter of boots until the Stormtroopers are almost right on top of him. It's the tinny sound of a vocoder ("looks like an electrical malfunction, get maintenance down here") that finally breaks through the haze. Kylo whips around - a standard patrol of two Stormtroopers have stopped right outside his hiding place and are peering into the passageway. In Kylo's hand, his cock pulses, and he hisses.

"What was that?" says one Stormtrooper, "Did you hear that?"

And now they're stepping into the corridor, slowly inching forward into the darkness. Kylo panics. He throws a hand out, throws the Force out, and maybe he lays it on a little too thickly, slams into their minds too roughly, because they seize up and, as one, tumble to the floor in a clatter of plastisteel armour, unconscious.

Kylo's concern for them is fleeting. He'll deal with it later. He's too close now to think about anything else than the pressure of his hand around his cock and the burning pleasure in his abdomen. He bites his lip, hard, to keep from moaning.

He finds the fantasy easy to return to - Hux, thinner than he looks under all those layers of uniform, soft and pliant and light in his arms despite his height, light enough to carry, to hold him up and bear his weight while Hux rides him. Maybe Hux folds his arms behind Kylo's neck to hold on, or maybe he arches back, letting Kylo support him as he bares his throat, collarbones shifting under his skin. Maybe Kylo pins him down, lets his weight constrain him while he rams into him from behind. Or maybe Hux sits on him, hipbones digging into Kylo's palms while he--

The Force slams into his mind like a blaring alarm, shattering the daydream. His eyes fly open. The mess doors are sliding open, and Hux is stepping outside into the corridor, his energy prickling over Kylo like physical heat. That bright nexus mind, passing right by where he's secreted away and when Kylo glances to the mouth of the passage, there he is, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and that one strand of brilliant copper hair trailing over his eyebrow. It's enough to push Kylo over the edge.

He comes all over the wall with a soft, stuttered groan. The lights in the main corridor flicker dangerously.

He's squeezing his eyes shut against the pleasure but he can hear Hux's footsteps slow, and then stop; can hear him muttering almost under his breath about the shoddy state of the electrical maintenance in this part of the ship.

Kylo clenches the fingers of his free hand, trembling as the last vibrations of pleasure shudder through him. His bottom lip aches from where he's bitten into it, the taste of blood on his tongue. It's dark, he tells himself. Too dark to see. Too quiet to hear. But when he turns his head again to look out to the main passageway, Hux is staring straight at him. Kylo freezes, paralyzed with the sudden and immense fear that he's been caught with his limp cock in his hand by the very person whose image he's just been masturbating to. He's suddenly sure his heart must be beating loud enough for Hux to hear, that the smell of come must be obvious to him, even all the way down the corridor. And, horrifyingly, some small part of Kylo finds that he almost wants this: wants Hux to come upon him like this, wants his disgust and his anger, wants the humiliation of it. Kylo is absolutely certain now that he must be completely insane, because for a very brief moment, he even imagines telling Hux all the things he pictured doing to him.

But Hux is turning away now, slipping his hands into his pockets casually, and the moment passes. Hux leaves, steps fading into silence, and Kylo returns to himself with an almost overwhelming wave of shame. He sags against the wall, pressing his forehead to the cool surface. He came dangerously close to doing something that would surely lead to his dismissal from co-command. Even worse, he reminds himself, he's just jerked off to _Hux_. Hux. Really?

The ridiculousness of the whole situation - him, like some teenage boy unable to control his urges, jerking off in a dangerously public place to thoughts of his sycophantic, hateful co-commander - catches up to him. He finds himself smiling, shaking his head as he tucks himself back into his breeches and fastens the cord.

He wipes his hand on the inside of one long coattail, dabbing at the come on the wall until he's satisfied most of it has been removed. He drags the unconscious Stormtroopers down the hallway, depositing them just outside the Slop Drop with the slightest Force-based suggestion of having drank too much at the end of their shift. He doesn't meet anyone else on his way back to his quarters in the deserted halls of the Finalizer, and despite his lingering embarrassment about what just happened, finds himself feeling more relaxed than he has in a long time.

It isn't until he gets back to his quarters that he realizes he forgot his ration pack in the mess.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr [here](http://sarensen.tumblr.com/).


End file.
